The Four Noble Houses of Hogwarts
by Sandra S
Summary: Little Al has a chat with the Sorting Hat. The outcome is ... complicated. Post DH.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Author's note: Set almost directly after the end of _Deathly Hallows_. For this story there IS a portrait of Snape in the Headmaster's office. If it came to be there the way I explored in my fic "Portrait on the Wall" or any other Portrait-story doesn't really matter.

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Of course Albus Severus Potter had been afraid before in his life.

For example, there had been the time he had run afoul of the gnomes in his grandparent's garden and only Aunt Fleur coming to his rescue with blazing wand had saved him from a fate worse than death (in other words, loosing the rest of his clothes as well while Rose, Victoire and Blimi, Aunt Luna's daughter, had only watched and giggled, the traitors). Or when Miss Button at primary school had scheduled a meeting with his parents because he had told her the snake she had brought to class didn't like it in the fish tank she used and thought her to be a – a – well, he still wasn't sure what that word exactly meant but his mother and father had been much more upset about him repeating it than the whole talking-to-an-animal thing. Or, of course, the memorable afternoon James and he had secretly tried out Uncle George's new collection of fireworks but unfortunately forgot to open the window first and in consequence a) nearly burned down the house and b) were almost suffocated by the fumes of the "Horntail Special (Realistic smoke and fire, warning, do not leave unattended or in the hands of children)" ... which cemented their father's completely unfounded belief that the brother's sharing a room would inevitably lead to chaos and destruction.

But all of that was nothing – NOTHING in comparison with walking down the length of the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in order to be sorted.

There was so much LIGHT in here, hundreds, no, thousands of candles floating in the air, the glitter of golden plates and cups, the continuous hum of many young voices, the weird transparent forms of ghosts rising into the air for a better look… Dazed Al let his eyes drift up to the star-sprinkled dark velvet of the ceiling and then quickly fixed it on the nervously hunched back of the first-year in front of him when he felt a surge of vertigo. Rose behind him was suspiciously silent too, nearly treading on his heels when they slowed down to line up in front of the teachers' table. Swallowing dryly Al stared back at the countless faces seemingly all fixed on him alone, almost sighing in relief when he finally made out the shock of unruly hair that could only be his brother at the table on the far left. That was, until James winked and mouthed 'Slytherin' at him, then he could have happily strangled him.

Then all of that was forgotten when a hush fell over the assembled students and Uncle Neville – or rather Professor Longbottom – placed a four-legged stool in front of their line, and on it put the frayed and dirty-looking Sorting Hat. A moment of breathless silence followed, and then a rip near the rim opened wide and the hat burst into song.

_"Now listen up and hear my tale  
for I'm the Sorting Hat,  
I tell you where you do belong  
__and what is to expect..."_

"It – it sings!"

The faint and rather shocked whisper to his right had Al turn his head. The curly-haired fat boy there looked ready to pass out.

"Of course it sings," Al whispered back, "It is the Sorting Hat, it always sings!"

_"... old Slytherin, brave Gryffindor,  
wise Ravenclaw, the fair,  
not to forget dear Hufflepuff,  
who made the pasties best..." _

"But it is a HAT!" The boy didn't seem able to wrap his mind around that. "Hats are not supposed to talk, let alone, let alone -"

"Oh," Rose chimed in and leaned around Al, "You must be Muggle-born, are you not? Your parents have no magic? My grandparents on my mother's side are like that. Oh, and I'm Rose, by the way. Rose Weasley. And that's Albus Potter."

_"... so no matter what they said  
he still did take his leave,  
abandoned school and pupils alike  
and caused much further grief..." _

"Duncan Miller. Uh, hi."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"So this – uh – this hat is, well, normal?"

"Yes, of course," Al repeated a bit impatiently, "It is the _SORTING_ Hat. It will determine which house you belong to."

"And before that it ... sings? Why?"

"Uh..." Rose and Al looked at each other. "Well, to be honest..."

_"... so listen well and learn my tale  
for I'm the Sorting Hat,  
just__ try me on and I will tell  
what future lies ahead!" _

Applause broke out, startling all three of them and Rose frowned with disappointment.

"Oh," she said unhappily, "We missed it."

But Al was no longer listening to her because his eyes were glued to the long roll of parchment in Uncle Neville's hands and his nervousness and fear suddenly returned tenfold. He barely even heard him explain how they were supposed to come forward and try on the hat when he called their name. All he could think about were his father's parting words on the platform.

_But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account. _

_The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account._

Time seemed to crawl and fly at once. Abbott, Andrea became a Hufflepuff right away while for Barlay, Timothy to be announced a Ravenclaw took several minutes. The respective tables cheered loudly whenever they received a new member while the rest usually gave some short, polite and not very enthusiastic claps. Marcus Logan ended up in Gryffindor. Scorpius Malfoy was immediately declared another Slytherin, as expected, and marched over there with his nose lifted arrogantly in the air. Duncan put on the hat with obvious reluctance and seemed more than glad to rip it off again after the loud shout of HUFFLEPUFF. There were two boys with N and a girl with O before Patil, Athena became a Ravenclaw and then it was...

"Potter, Albus!"

Al swallowed dryly and charged blindly forward before terror could get the better of him, seized the hat, hopped on the stool, jammed it onto his head where it fell right over his eyes and immediately thought with all his might:

_"Not Slytherin! Please, not Slytherin!"_ Then added a small _"Sir"_ as an afterthought. You never knew, after all.

"No?" a small voice inquired in his head, "Well, if you are so set against it then you won't although it is a shame, really. Mmmh, so where to put you, where to put you, oh, you are a tricky one indeed..."

Al had nearly slumped with relief at the Hat's reassurance but now that his greatest fear was avoided his curiosity was piqued. So he pulled all his courage together and tentatively thought into the monologue of the little voice:

_"Err, ex – __excuse me, but – but would you HAD put me in Slytherin if I hadn't asked you not to?" _

The Hat paused.

"Well, I would have at least CONSIDERED it," it finally answered then gave a disdainful sniff. "I know a very prominent member of this school once hazarded the opinion we might sort too soon but I can assure you that is not the case. The future is right here in your head and I have never chosen the wrong house in my long and outstanding service. And I can see you well in Slytherin."

_"But – but old Slytherin was mean!"_ Al thought affronted, _"I mean, he refused to teach Muggle-borns, thought pure-bloods superior, wanted only them in his house..."_

"Ah, yes," the Hat almost sighed, "that old thing again. True enough, he did not want Muggle-borns in his house though that was originally because he figured children from wizarding families would already have some pre-education when they started school. No patience for the basics, the man; a trait he shared with Ravenclaw, by the way. She, too, had no intention to waste her time on how-to-hold-a-wand although she did make exceptions if somebody worked hard enough. Something that was also very important to Hufflepuff – hard work, I mean. Didn't mind if her students were a bit simple-minded otherwise. So did Gryffindor as long as they were brave and daring and of course determined to reach their goals. Was just like Slytherin in that regard but for the old man persistence always had to be paired with cunning and not just be a headlong rush into danger."

Albus needed a moment to stomach that.

_"Put – put like that neither __preference sounds actually BAD but – but not very noble either,"_ he finally thought confused.

"Noble?" The Hat seemed to be quietly laughing. "My dear boy, you do not become the most famous witch or wizard of your time by being overly noble. To become the most accomplished dueller you have to challenge and defeat those who have been called great duellers before you, and not be squeamish about your means. To be called the most brilliant witch of your time you need to prove those considered brilliant before you wrong and wrong again. And even Hufflepuff … let's just say she could be VERY unforgiving if you used a pinch of salt in one of her recipes instead of just a few grains."

Blinking against the inside of the hat Albus thought this over.

_"But Slytherin endangered the students by hiding a basilisk in the foundations of the school, I know he did, Uncle Ron told us!"_ he argued finally. And hadn't that been a sticky moment when Aunt Hermione had walked in on her husband telling that tale.

"Yes, well, what was he supposed to do when his favourite pet grew too large for his pocket?" the Hat answered fondly, "He couldn't let it roam free on the grounds, now could he? Admittedly, he might have gone a bit overboard on the decorations but all in all this enlargement charm that automatically widened the room whenever his little darling had another growth spurt was a real piece of art, wouldn't you agree? Worthy of a wizard as great as him."

Once again thrown Al had to admit that but rallied valiantly. _"Well, OK, but he ... HATED Muggles, everybody knows that. He wanted to ENSLAVE them!"_

The Hat sighed. "Yes, everybody knows or so they think they do, and many things have been said in anger in those days. But tell me, have you never argued so long and so heated with anybody, have you never so often said yes while the other said no, so often said black while the other said white that in the end it didn't matter any more what you were arguing about, you couldn't back down and take back what you said even if you wanted to?"

_No, I never did_ – was Albus's first reaction to that but then he involuntarily thought of his brother and of many of their shouting matches in righteous anger and indignation – did not, did too, you are stupid, you are more stupid – until one of their parents came and broke it up. Though of course it had always been James who was so infuriatingly stubborn...

_"But – but Slytherin LEFT!"_ he almost protested, _"He abandoned the school and – and his students..."_

"Yes, he left." And for the first time the voice of the Hat was sad and full of grief. "The only one of the founders who cherished their dream – to build the world's best school of magic – so much to turn his back and walk away, so it might become true without him and not break apart in arguments and strife. And the other three eventually acknowledged his sacrifice or why do you think there are still FOUR Houses of Hogwarts and not only three?"

Stunned Albus tried to imagine loving something so much, wanting something so much to be willing to give it up so it could survive and grow and be it without you… Awed and intimidated his young mind recoiled from the confusing concept.

_"Then __... then why don't you tell them? Everybody?"_ he finally managed to think, _"I didn't hear all your song – err, sorry, by the way – but you ... you didn't mention THAT I am sure." _

The Hat sighed again. "My dear boy, I might be the Sorting Hat but in the end for the wizarding world I'm still only that: A hat. Do you think I haven't tried to teach people? To speak of the whole truth in my songs and not just what passes as good entertainment?" Its voice grew angrier and angrier. "Why, they wonder and do research and devote their time to find out the mysteries of Hogwarts founding but has anybody ever found the time to come and talk to me? I, who was there, who was Gryffindor's very own hat? No! Because for them I am just that: A hat and no one ever listens to my tales except for one song a year!"

_"I – I would like to listen to you,"_ Al offered shyly into the silence after the heated outburst.

That actually seemed to have shocked the Hat into speechlessness; it did not speak for so long.

"I would like that very much, too," it finally said thickly. Then it cleared vigorously its none-existing throat and was abruptly back to business. "Well, but not today I'm afraid, pleasant as it has been talking to you. We still have a Sorting to complete and I suspect my audience is getting a bit impatient. Now, let's see. Gryffindor, I'm afraid, it is not for you but –"

_"Mister Hat, I –__"_ Albus interrupted timidly and gulped, _"I –"_

The Hat paused again.

"Yes?"

Al took his heart in both hands. _"I think, I guess, after all you've told me, I think I … wouldn't MIND if you did put me in – in..."_

"Well, well," the voice of the Hat seemed to rise in Al's head with each word, "It seems there's more bravery it you than I first thought but I stand by my opinion and I have never been wrong. You WILL do well in _SLYTHERIN_!"

The last was shouted out loud to the room and Albus released a shaking breath. It was done. He was sorted.

He regretted his decision the second he pulled off the Hat to a completely silent Great Hall.

Al swallowed heavily, blinking against the bright light hurting his eyes. A sea of blank faces was staring back at him. It was so still, you could have heard a pin drop. The Gryffindor table appeared frozen in shock, the students sitting with mouths gaping open, expressions ranging from stunned to openly horrified; and in their midst was James, gawking at him like he had never seen him before. Involuntarily Al's shaking hands clutched the rim of the Sorting Hat closer to his chest. The Slytherins looked as if they had just been clubbed over the head by a Bludger. Disbelief and apprehension showed in the faces of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Swallowing again convulsively Al glanced at Uncle Neville, who was standing much closer now than before, as if he had just been walking slowly in his direction. The look of astonishment on his round face cut like a knife.

A sharp, single clap made everybody jump and as Al twisted around on the stool he just saw Headmistress McGonagall bring her hands together a second time, spearing students and teachers alike with a furious glare.

After a second the teachers, shaken out of their stupor, started clapping their hands too, only Hagrid at the far end kept staring at him with such horror that Al felt tears well up in his eyes. Hastily turning back to the hall and the now half-heartedly applauding students his gaze once more sought his brother. James had recovered so far that he was able to mechanically bring his hands together and even attempt a wobbly grin and a thumps-up, but his eyes were still bewildered. Dropping his own eyes Al finally slid down from the stool and placed the Sorting Hat back on it with numb fingers, barely resisting the crazy urge to smash it back on and demand to be sorted differently. He didn't lift them the whole long, long walk over to the Slytherin table where he meekly sat on the farthest edge, not looking at anyone. The tepid applause had long since died down already.

He barely heard when in front of the High Table Uncle Longbottom belatedly cleared his throat (skewered by another sharp look from McGonagall) and started reading out names again. Or the shout of the hat announcing the house they belonged to. Only one pair of them penetrated with crystal clarity...

"Weasley, Rose!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Al shivered and hunched his shoulders even lower. The rest of the evening passed in a haze.

McGonagall's speech, the wonderful food that suddenly filled the tables and of which he was hardly able to choke down a bite or two. The hall buzzing with the noise of the now excitedly talking students although the tables of Gryffindor and Slytherin appeared rather subdued. No one was talking to Al directly but he could feel the many stabbing eyes. Then finally, finally McGonagall spoke her parting words and the students filed out in long rows, parting at the stairs; the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors climbing upwards while the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins went down into the dungeons.

Al just stumbled along; eyes glued to the floor as they turned away from the other house and marched along long, bleak passages. He didn't listen to the password the Prefects announced at a bare stretch of stone wall, merely followed the others through the appearing door and the common room behind it and then down a spiral staircase. He didn't look up as they were pointed to a room, didn't spend a thought about the boys he would be sharing it with, Malfoy among them, but hurried to the bed with his trunk at its foot end, hopped on and jerked the curtains closed without even removing his shoes first. Shrugging haphazardly out of his clothes he wriggled into his pyjamas and slammed the covers over his head, curling into a sorry little ball.

For a while longer there was shuffling and muttering outside, the soft sounds gradually dying down as the other boys went to bed too. A few more minutes there was the faint echo of the other students settling down in their own rooms but eventually that faded out as well and deep silence fell between the massive stone walls of the castle.

Al stared out into the blackness under the covers with burning eyes. He was cold, a cold that seemed to hurt his very bones no matter how deep he buried under the blankets, his toes like ice no matter how tightly he curled in on himself. Shivering he bit his lips and after an agonising long stretch of time he suddenly couldn't bear it any longer.

Without thought he shoved out and slipped through the curtains, standing for a moment on the rug beside his bed and listening to the soft little snores and snuffles of the other boys sleeping. He could see faintly in the dim light of one round, greenish lamp left on for the night. The heavy wooden door groaned quietly as he pushed it open, the cold of the stone floor in the corridor and then the steps biting into his bare feet. Padding them up Al finally stopped in the middle of the common room and looked around with hollow eyes, a breath catching in his throat.

He had been sorted Slytherin. He had been sorted _Slytherin_. And though his father had said it … would his parents really still love him, now?

The tears were hot and scalding, rolling down his cheeks before he knew he was crying, and hunching his shoulders in misery he hugged himself tightly.

He wanted to take it back. He wasn't brave, he wanted to be in Gryffindor, with Rose and James, like his father and mother had been. He did not want everybody to look at him like that. He did not want those whispers behind his back, he did not want Hagrid horrified or Uncle Neville astonished or – or – he did not want to be alone. He wanted to crawl into his father's bed like he used to do during a thunderstorm or when he had had a bad dream and snuggle down in his warm and solid embrace, knowing here he was safe. He wanted to seek refuge in James's bed like he had done when they had stayed overnight at his grandparents' and the ghoul in the attic had scared him. But he couldn't because he was not brave enough to face the dark corridors of the castle alone, and even if he had known the way and had had the courage he would still not have known the password into Gryffindor tower... There was someone watching him.

The extraordinary distinct feeling shocked Al enough to abruptly swallow his quiet sobs and look wildly around in the long, shadowy expanse of the common room. Only now noticing with discomfort how eerie it was alone in here.

Most lamps had been extinguished for the night and the faint glow of those left on only served to deepen the dark places behind the heavy chairs gathered around tables in the corners. Shadows played on the rough stone walls. The silhouettes of more hulking chairs loomed before the elaborately carved mantelpiece of the fireplace where a carefully banked fire still gave off a hint of warmth. A suit of armour rose threateningly beside the door to the girls' dormitories. Al shrank back, pivoting on his heel, and his wide eyes suddenly fastened on a faded tapestry of the Hogwarts grounds hung just below the ceiling on the wall opposite the fireplace.

And the greasy-haired, hook-nosed man with piercing dark eyes looking down on him.

Gaping a little Al found himself caught in the intense stare, unable to look away.

It was like the fathomless eyes drilled right into him like a laser-beam, as if the man was reading his mind and soul with no more effort than reading an open book. It was disconcerting and quite a bit frightening. And yet Albus could only stare back in fascination, captured whole by the unwavering gaze. The harsh-looking man slowly arched a brow, a peculiar expression on his sallow face though the texture of the tapestry made it hard to discern if it was faintly amused or stern. Still not breaking eye contact Al nervously wet his lips and had had almost worked up the nerve to address the man when a sharp hiss behind him made him almost jump out of his skin.

"_Potter__!_"

Spinning around Al jumped again when he saw Scorpius Malfoy's pale hair float ghost-like in the dark opening of the staircase.

"What are you doing?" the other boy whispered outraged, "You'll loose us points on the first day!"

Not knowing what to say Al could only drop his gaze and pull quietly at the hem of his pyjama tops. The other boy narrowed his eyes on him when he got a first good look at his face.

"You are not _crying_, are you?" Malfoy inquired with all the contempt only an eleven-year old could muster.

Al furiously shook his head and quickly tried to brush off the tear tracks on his cheeks with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing the embarrassing evidence all over the place.

"Oh, god, you _are_ crying." Scrunching up his nose the blond boy crossed his arms. "What were you going to do? Try and crawl into your brother's bed?"

Since this was exactly what Al had wanted he could only stare down at his toes and curl them against the cold floor.

After looking at him for a moment longer, Scorpius – who had, by some strange twist of fate, not only inherited the typical Malfoy looks and deviousness as well as his grandmother Narcissa's iron will but also the compassionate heart of his distant cousin Regulus Black – heaved a put-upon sigh.

"Oooh, all right," he said, "You can come into my bed. But -!" He held up a warning finger as Al's head snapped up, eyes wide and round in disbelief and wonder. "Only for tonight. And we'll draw the curtains, so no one will notice. _And_ you'll go back in your own bed before the others wake up in the morning! Is that understood?"

Al, whose tentative smile had grown bigger with each point the other boy had ticked off, nodded vigorously with shining eyes.

Rolling his own Scorpius tried to look annoyed and turned back to the stairs. "Well, then come on, Potter. I'm freezing here."

Almost skipping across the common room Al hurried to follow him but paused in the doorway. Looking back over his shoulder he searched the gaze of the dark-haired man still watching him from the tapestry and offered a shy smile. This time the man arched both brows.

"Come_ ON_, Potter!" Scorpius's distant voice demanded impatiently out of the depth of the staircase.

Grinning happily Al waved shyly goodbye and scurried off to catch up with him.

For a long moment silence sank over the common room, the hook-nosed man considering the now empty doorway thoughtfully, before it was broken by a new voice.

"Why, Severus, that was very kind of you."

A blue-robed wizard with long silver hair and beard strode into the tapestry. Keen blue eyes winked behind half-moon glasses.

The Portrait of Severus Snape gave a disdainful sniff.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Albus."

Smiling fondly at the younger wizard the likeness of Albus Dumbledore folded his hands.

"Oh, I'm talking about sending the Bloody Baron to go and blow in young Mr Malfoy's ear so he would wake up and notice young Mr Potter missing."

Drawing himself up to his full height the other portrait seemed ready to deny any involvement but then his eyes abruptly narrowed and he stabbed an accusing finger in the direction of the older man.

"Oh, no, Albus. Forget it. I know exactly what you are thinking and the answer is NO. I will NOT watch over another Potter!"

Turning in a dramatic swirl of painted (well, in this case, woven) black robes, he stalked off to the other end of the tapestry and vanished behind the edge. The other wizard watched him go with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Severus, whatever you say."

Chuckling softly the Portrait of Dumbledore cast one last look in the Slytherin common room and walked out on his side of the tapestry.

In the fireplace a piece of ember broke apart with a muted crack, flaring briefly in the ashes before fading to a soft glow again. Then the silence of the night returned once more between the cool stone walls of the castle.

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The End


End file.
